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There is a chance that I will be able to write so what the hell
A chance. Not, not a huge one. But I got like, eighteen hours of sleep and my brain found some sort of on switch and it possible I'll be able to write, so, say hi, drop me a fandom we have in common, I'll try to write you a snippet.
*cracks nuckles*
Do with it what you will.
Re: *cracks knuckles*
Re: *cracks knuckles*
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but oh hey what the hell
todaythis week, time, what is time. (Sam and Dean are aged approximately Wee and Tiny):Bobby poured shots like he always did. The boys sipped but Ruby slammed hers like a trooper. Then she bent over coughing and John went to help her, until Bobby said his name in warning, shotgun at the ready. Dean and Sam had retreated to the corner behind Bobby, out of his line of fire, which was gun safety John thought he'd be prouder of if he was worried what Ruby might toss at Bobby now. She came up with her eyes black and spat, "Nice friends you've got, Winchester."
"Did you know you were bringing a demon into my house?" Bobby demanded.
"Is Ruby a monster?" Dean asked. He was hugging Sam to him, covering his ears.
"She said she was a witch!" John protested.
"I am," Ruby snapped. "You can be both, you know. You trust this asswipe?"
"More than I trust you right now," John answered.
"Get upstairs, boys," Ruby said.
"The hell," said Bobby, "do you want them upstairs for?" Dean was already hauling Sam out, though, and John couldn't be sorry.
"Safer for them to be out of the way," Ruby said. "See, I'm a good witch."
"Maybe you are and maybe you aren't, but there's no such thing as a good demon," Bobby snarled. He fired the shotgun and missed, salt spraying across the kitchen; there was a blur of motion where she had been and then she was slamming the gun out of Bobby's hands.
"Can't we talk about this like rational people?" Ruby asked, her tone too saccharine sarcastic to be civil. "I cut dumbfuck here a deal. I'm nice." She sounded offended that they might think otherwise. It was hard to tell if that was genuine or not.
"Deals with demons aren't nice, sweetheart," said Bobby. He was reaching for something; Ruby didn't move to stop him, but she was tense. "How much shit are you in?" he asked John.
"She's keeping my kids safe," said John. His voice sounded ragged in his own ears; he didn't know how safe they'd ever been now, sleeping next to her. "From demons--shit, other demons. Yellow-eyes."
"And what she get? Your soul?" Bobby demanded.
"Not much interested in souls," said Ruby.
"Never met a demon who wasn't," Bobby said.
Re: *cracks knuckles*
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Re: but oh hey what the hell
Re: but oh hey what the hell
John should have been headed home to his boys, he knew that, but he'd just killed a swamp monster. He was exhausted, he wanted a drink, and he wasn't looking forward to a five hour drive back to Deacon's. The bar looked so inviting; and once he'd given into temptation and gone in, the woman at the bar looked inviting in a very different way. The thing was, it had only been a couple of months since Mary, and John was less looking for comfort and more for self-flagellation, because he wanted, but he felt so damn guilty about wanting. The woman's lips curved up in a smile that looked about right for that; she murmured, "Buy me a drink, sailor?" with an edge of sarcasm about employing the cliché on dry land, so John did.
They went back to a motel room and got creative. After that, exhaustion kicked in and John didn't wake up until there was daylight hitting him in the face. He rolled over to open his eyes out of the line of fire and saw the woman, half-dressed and going through his wallet. She smiled as she said, "Good morning," cheerful, like she wasn't doing anything wrong, so John thought about it and decided she probably wasn't.
"How much do I owe you?" he asked her sleepily, with half a mind to offer to head out to the ATM in the lobby--he'd spent most of his cash at the bar.
She tilted her head back and laughed at John raucously. John wondered if maybe he'd guessed wrong, insulted her, in which case this was probably the best reaction he could hope to get, but then she her head snapped back down and she said, grinning viciously at him, "John Winchester, you owe me anything I damn well please, up to and including your soul."
John really, really hoped she wasn't the swamp thing's mommy.
He rolled for his gun on the nightstand; she made no move to stop him and seemed unconcerned. That could have been simple bravado or it could have been a sign that the gun would do jack shit to her, but either way, he felt better with it in his hands. "The hell are you talking about," he demanded.
"You dumb fuck, you don't even know what you did, do you," she asked. "With my kind, sex isn't the deal, it's the handshake, and you didn't bother to ask what the terms were. You just signed off on a carte blanche."
"Your kind," John repeated.
"Let's say I'm a witch, for now," she said, which meant she was something else--maybe something worse, maybe just something more specific, because she went on, "That's in your vocabulary, isn't it? I mean, I know you're new at this, but you're running around calling kelpies swamp monsters, so forgive me if I'm sticking to things people dress up as on Halloween. I'm sure it's hard for you to tell, since I don't have a pointy hat and a big warty nose, but you'll learn. If you live long enough."
Kelpies. Sex-sealed deals with witches. John had to start writing some of this shit down. "So what do you want from me?" John asked. "And what do I get out of it, if sex was just the handshake?"
"You get whatever I feel like giving you, since you didn't bother to ask upfront," she said. "And as for me, I haven't decided yet. Souls are pretty popular and you've hardly used yours. Or, hmm, you've got nice wheels," she mused, and he relaxed, fractionally, because as much as he loved the car, it was replaceable, "or you've got two sons, surely you could spare one--"
"No." John's grip on the gun tightened.
"Aw, but baby's blood is totally in this year," she laughed.
"Nobody hurts my boys," John insisted.
The witch sat back, looking pleased. "That can be your end, then."
"What can?" John asked, confused.
"Protection for your sons," she said. "I'll make sure nothing hurts your boys." That was so unexpectedly generous John wondered what the hell the catch was. "And as for you..."
"What?" John demanded.
"I'll have to think about it some more," she said. "You don't mind, do you? In no rush to lose your soul, right?"
John shot her.
"Asshole," she said. "Now I'm going to need a new shirt."
---
The ride back to Deacon's was strange: John hadn't realized she meant to come along with him, and she'd laughed and said, "How can I guard your boys from two states away?"
John nearly told her he didn't want her protection, but he was learning to treat life like a fairy tale and sometimes you weren't supposed to look gift horses in the mouth. She definitely wasn't the fluffy bunny on the side of the road who you would be rewarded for showing kindness to, but maybe she was the fairy you didn't want to invite to the christening but you did anyway so as not to piss her off and get cursed.
This was probably still a monkey's paw wish. Somehow or another John would regret getting what he'd asked for. He was already regretting it, really.
She rolled the window down and soaked up sun and wind. She didn't talk to him for a while, and that was fine, because he didn't have anything to say to her. She made him stop for lunch when he'd have pushed on through and then offered to take a turn at the wheel after. John said no. She ran a hand along the Impala's side and said, "Aww, I'd treat her right."
---
Deacon asked, bemused, "John, did you hire a hooker as a babysitter?"
John rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, "Not... intentionally?"
---
Sam's first word was Dean. Sam's second word, to John's consternation, was Ruby. Sam's third and fourth words came directly on each other's heels, and were dumb fuck. Ruby laughed uproariously and tickled Sam's toes.
Re: but oh hey what the hell
Re: *cracks knuckles*